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 Music and Musicians in Late Mughal India

Based on a vast, virtually unstudied archive of Indian writings

alongside visual sources, this book presents the first history of music
and musicians in late Mughal India c.1748–1858, and takes the lives of
nine musicians as entry points into six prominent types of writing on
music in Persian, Brajbhasha, Urdu and English, moving from Delhi
to Lucknow, Hyderabad, Jaipur and among the British. It shows how
a key Mughal cultural field responded to the political, economic and
social upheaval of the transition to British rule, while addressing
a central philosophical question: can we ever recapture the ephemeral
experience of music once the performance is over? These rich, diverse
sources shine new light on the wider historical processes of this pivotal
transitional period, and provide a new history of music, musicians and
their audiences during the precise period in which North Indian
classical music coalesced in its modern form.

katherine butler schofield is Fellow of the Royal Asiatic

Society, and recipient of a European Research Council Grant and
a British Academy Mid-Career Fellowship. She is co-editor of Tellings
and Texts: Music, Literature and Performance in North India (2015)
and Monsoon Feelings: A History of Emotions in the Rain (2018).

Published online by Cambridge University Press

Published online by Cambridge University Press
 Music and Musicians in Late Mughal
India
Histories of the Ephemeral, 1748–1858

katherine butler schofield

King’s College London

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www.cambridge.org
Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781316517857
DOI: 10.1017/9781009047685
© Katherine Schofield 2024
This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions
of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take
place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press & Assessment.
First published 2024
A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Schofield, Katherine Butler, author.
Title: Music and musicians in late Mughal India : histories of the ephemeral, 1748-1858 /
Katherine Butler Schofield.
Description: [1.] | New York : Cambridge University Press, 2023. | Includes bibliographical
references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2023018212 | ISBN 9781316517857 (hardback) | ISBN 9781009048521
(paperback) | ISBN 9781009047685 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Hindustani music – India – 18th century – History and criticism. |
Hindustani music – India – 19th century – History and criticism. | Hinustani music – Iranian
influences. | Musicians – India. | Hindustani music – Social aspects – India – History – 18th
century. | Hindustani music – Social aspects – India – History – 19th century. | Mogul
Empire – Court and courtiers – History – 18th century. | Mogul Empire – Court and
courtiers – History – 19th century. | East India Company – History – 18th century. | East
India Company – History – 19th century.
Classification: LCC ML338.4 .S36 2023 | DDC 780.954–dc23/eng/20230510
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023018212
ISBN 978-1-316-51785-7 Hardback
Cambridge University Press & Assessment has no responsibility for the persistence
or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this
publication and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will
remain, accurate or appropriate.

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 In memory of Bruce Wannell and Allison Busch.

To Mirwaiss Sidiqi, Waheedullah Saghar, Mohsen Saifi,

Ferishta Farrukhi, Najeba Arian, Homira Sabawoon and
all my other Afghan sisters and brothers in music: may you
find your way home.

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Published online by Cambridge University Press
 Contents

List of Figures [page viii]

List of Tables [xi]
List of Boxes [xii]
List of Examples [xiii]
Acknowledgements [xiv]
Notes on the Text [xviii]
Ruling Dynasties [xxii]
Genealogies of Principal Musicians and Music Treatises [xxv]

1 Chasing Eurydice: Writing on Music in the Late Mughal World [1]

2 The Mughal Orpheus: Remembering Khushhal Khan
Gunasamudra in Eighteenth-Century Delhi [20]

3 The Rivals: Anjha Baras, Adarang and the Scattering of

Shahjahanabad [49]
4 The Courtesan and the Memsahib: Khanum Jan and Sophia
Plowden at the Court of Lucknow [79]
5 Eclipsed by the Moon: Mahlaqa Bai and Khushhal Khan Anup in
Nizami Hyderabad [117]
6 Faithful to the Salt: Mayalee Dancing Girl versus the East India
Company in Rajasthan [147]
7 Keeper of the Flame: Miyan Himmat Khan and the Last of the
Mughal Emperors [180]
8 Orphans of the Uprising: Late Mughal Echoes and 1857 [219]

Glossary [248]
Bibliography [257]
Tazkira: List of Names [285]
Index [296]

vii

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 Figures

Front cover: Portrait of a Delhi qawwāl. Illustration for James Skinner’s

Tashrīh al-Aqwām. Hansi, 1825. Add. 27,255, f. 457v. © The British Library
Board.
1.1 Painting of the pietra dura inlay of Orpheus in the Hall of Public
Audience, Shahjahanabad. 1845. 292D-1871. © Victoria & Albert
Museum, London. [page 18]
2.1 Khushhal Khan Gunasamudra performing at Dara Shukoh’s wedding
(detail). c. 1700. RCIN1005068, f. 26v. Royal Collection Trust
© Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2015. [33]
2.2 Ragini Todi. c. 1755. Catherine and Ralph Benkaim Collection,
2013.340. The Cleveland Museum of Art. Public Domain. [34]
2.3 The connections between celestial bodies, musical notes, elements and
effects. [43]
2.4 Dhrupad in Ragini Todi. 18 C. 1939.552, verso. Yale University Art
Gallery. Public Domain. [47]
3.1 Anup’s musical genealogy as a fantasy majlis. Anup, Rāg Darshan. 1800,
illustrated by Haji Mir Ghulam Hasan 1804. Lawrence J Schoenberg
Collection, LJS 63, f. 3v. University of Pennsylvania Special
Collections Library. CC–BY. [52]
4.1 Probably Sir David Ochterlony, watching a nāch. c. 1820. Add. Or. 2.
© The British Library Board. [80]
4.2 Mrs Sophia Elizabeth Plowden. John Russell, 1797. © The Birla
Museum, Pilani. [90]
4.3 A and B. Persian rubācī, ‘Sāqī-ā! Fasl-i bahār ast!’ Plowden, Album,
f. 8 and Tunebook, f. 14v. 1787–8. MS 380. © Fitzwilliam Museum,
University of Cambridge. [93]
4.4 Courtesan performing for Colonel Antoine Polier in Lucknow.
1786–88. 2005.83. Bequest Balthasar Reinhart. Museum Rietberg,
Zürich © Rainer Wulfsberger. [101]
4.5 A and B. Urdu khayāl, ‘Sunre macshūqā be-wafā!’ Plowden, Album, f. 21
and Tunebook, f. 39v. MS 380. © Fitzwilliam Museum, University of
Cambridge. [109]
viii

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 List of Figures ix

4.6 ‘Tāza ba tāza no ba no’. Plowden, Album, f. 1. MS 380. © Fitzwilliam

Museum, University of Cambridge. [111]
4.7 A and B. Persian ghazal, ‘Surwi ruwān-i kīstī’ by Khaqani (1122–90).
Plowden, Album, f. 11 and Tunebook, f. 19v. MS 380. © Fitzwilliam
Museum, University of Cambridge. [115]
5.1 Mahlaqa Bai Chanda singing for Raja Rao Ranbha, by Haji Mir Ghulam
Hasan. Khushhal Khan Anup, Rāg Darshan. LJS 63, f. 2v. University of
Pennsylvania Special Collections Library. CC–BY. [119]
5.2 Horī, khayāl and tappa compositions in Ragini Khamaj. Khushhal Khan
˙ ˙
Anup, Rāg-Rāginī Roz o Shab. 1833–6. Urdu Mus 2, f. 123v–4r.
© Salar Jung Museum Library, Hyderabad. [122]
5.3 Ragini Khambhavati, Khushhal Khan Anup, Rāg Darshan.
LJS 63, f. 9v. University of Pennsylvania Special Collections
Library. CC–BY. [125]
5.4 Ragini Khambhavati. c. 1675. 2000.321. Gift of Doris Wiener, in honour
of Stephen Kossak, 2000. Metropolitan Museum of Art. Public
Domain. [128]
5.5 Ragini Khambhavati. Khushhal Khan Anup, Rāg Darshan. Late 18 C.
© Photo courtesy of Sotheby’s, 2019. [129]
5.6 Detail, Raja Rao hunting, by Haji Mir Ghulam Hasan. Khushhal Khan
Anup, Rāg Darshan. LJS 63, f. 18r. University of Pennsylvania Special
Collections Library. CC–BY. [139]
5.7 Chand Bibi of Ahmadnagar hunting. c.1700. 1999.403. Louis E. and
Theresa S. Seeley Purchase Fund for Islamic Art, 1999. Metropolitan
Museum of Art. Public Domain. [140]
6.1 Measuring salt piles at Sambhar Lake, Jaipur State, 1870s. Photo 355/
1(59). The British Library. Public Domain. [148]
6.2 Map of Sambhar Lake. [156]
6.3 Bhagtan performing the role of Krishna in Raslila, attr. Sahib
Ram, c.1800. © The Private Collection of the Royal Family
of Jaipur. [164]
6.4 Pensions paid from Sambhar Treasury on account of Jaipur State,
1 January to 30 June 1839, Section 2. The British Library. Public
Domain. [168]
6.5 A steamboat ride on a lake. Mid 19 C. © Christie’s Images Limited,
2022. [176]
7.1 Portrait of Miyan Himmat Khan, from James Skinner,
Tashrīh al-Aqwām. 1825. Add. 27,255, f. 134v.
© The British Library Board. [181]

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 x List of Figures

7.2 ‘A Nautch at Colonel Skinner’s Given to Me By Himself 1838’. Add. Or.

2598. © The British Library Board. [189]
7.3 Illustration of the bāzīgār (conjuror) for Skinner’s Tashrīh al-Aqwām.
Add. 27,255, f. 120v (detail). The British Library. Public Domain. [190]
7.4 Qawwāls at the shrine of Hazrat Nizam-ud-din Chishti, after Mazhar
c
Ali Khan. 1836. IM.41–1923. © Victoria & Albert Museum,
London. [192]
7.5 A and B. Khwaja Moin-ud-din Chishti and a gathering of mystics and
musicians; and detail. c. 1650–55. IS.94–1965. © Victoria & Albert
Museum, London. [193]
7.6 Performing communities in the Gentil Album. 1774. IS.25:26–1980.
© Victoria & Albert Museum, London. [198]
7.7 North Indian kanchanīs. Tanjore, c.1828. Add. Or. 62. © The British
Library Board. [200]
7.8 The Mughal tawā’if Malageer, by Lallji or Hulas Lal. 1815. © Collection
of Prince and Princess Sadruddin Aga Khan. [202]
7.9 Shahamat Jang and Ikram-ud-daula giving an evening of musical
entertainment (detail). 1748–50. © National Museums of Scotland.
Accepted in lieu of inheritance tax by H M Government and allocated
to the National Museums of Scotland. [203]
8.1 The Nawab of Awadh, Wajid cAli Shah, accompanying courtesan
Sarafraz Mahal on the tabla. Wajid cAli Shah, cIshqnāma. 1849–50.
RCIN 1005035, f. 242r. Royal Collection Trust © Her Majesty Queen
Elizabeth II 2015. [222]

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 Tables

3.1 Comparison of musical tazkiras and genealogies that use Rasikh’s

Risāla. [page 60]
4.1 Correlation of Plowden’s texts with their tunes. [86]
7.1 The Hanuman mat vs. Ghulam Raza’s rāga-rāginī system. [210]
7.2 The tāla systems of Ras Baras Khan, Hakim Hasan Maududi Chishti
and Ghulam Raza, cf. Ranj/Himmat. [212]

xi

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 Boxes

2.1 The canonical Mughal Persian treatises on Hindustani

music. [page 39]
3.1 List of key writings c. 1740–1850 that include musicians’ tazkiras and/or
genealogies. [59]
7.1 The ten ‘vedic and shastric’ texts cited in Skinner’s entries on performers
found in Tod’s manuscript collection in the Royal Asiatic Society. [204]

xii

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 Examples

4.1 ‘I. The Ghut’ (gat) from William Hamilton Bird, Oriental Miscellany
(Calcutta, 1789), p. 1. Public Domain. [page 82]
4.2 B and C melodies of ‘Sāqī-ā!’ compared. Plowden, Tunebook,
f. 13v, f. 20v. MS 380. © Fitzwilliam Museum, University of
Cambridge. [95]
4.3 Notation of medium speed jald tītāla. 1788. Or. MS 585, f. 64v.
Edinburgh University Library. [106]
4.4 Persian ghazal ‘Tāza ba tāza no ba no’ by Hafiz. Bird No. IV with the
first Persian line underlaid [112]
4.5 Persian ghazal, ‘Tāza ba tāza no ba no’ by Hafiz. Sophia Plowden,
Tunebook, f. 11r with the first line underlaid. Lucknow, 1787–8. MS 380.
© Fitzwilliam Museum, University of Cambridge [113]
4.6 ‘Tāza ba tāza no ba no’ set in Rag Bhairavi to a cycle of
seven beats. [114]
7.1 Ghulam Raza’s notation of the sthyā’ī tān of Ragini Bhairavi. [208]
7.2 Dhīmā titāla kalāwantī, the first tāla in the eleven tāla system of the
Asl al-Usūl. [215]

xiii

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 Acknowledgements

Twenty-five years since I started a master’s degree at SOAS, University of

London that would lead to a life-long love affair with Hindustani music and
Mughal history, I have finally finished my first single-authored book. Were
I to thank everyone who has made an impact on my journey this past quarter
of a century, I would have to write a second one, and would undoubtedly still
forget to mention someone’s name! With that in mind, I have decided to
name in these acknowledgements only those individuals and institutions
that have made a direct contribution to the writing of this book. But know
this: if you find that your name is not here, and you have at any point
interacted with me about my work or supported me with a cuppa or a chat –
I did notice and appreciate it; you did make an impact; and I thank you for
your immeasurable insights and acts of kindness over the years.
The research and writing of this book were generously funded by a five-
year Starting Grant from the European Research Council (no. 263643
MUSTECIO, PI: Katherine Butler Schofield); a one-year British Academy
Mid-Career Fellowship in conjunction with the British Library (no.
MD160059); and a publication subvention from King’s College London.
I was fortunate to write much of the first draft at the Centre for South Asian
Studies at the University of Cambridge, and the final draft was pulled into
shape thanks to a visiting professorship at the Department of South Asia
Studies, University of Pennsylvania; I am hugely grateful to everyone in
both places. The following kindly invited me to share my research with
audiences: Dr Ashok da Ranade Memorial Lecture, Mumbai; Australian
Historical Association; Reinhard Strohm’s Balzan Programme in
Musicology; Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sanghralaya, Mumbai;
ÉHÉSS Paris; Jaipur Literature Festival; Lahore Literary Festival; Max
Planck Institute for the History of the Emotions, Berlin; Prof SAH Abidi
Memorial Lecture, Delhi; Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts, Belgrade;
University of Cambridge; UC Berkeley; UC Davis; UCLA; and University
of Oxford. Thank you.
The following generously provided access to their collections, and I hope
that this book will give something back to them: Andhra Pradesh
xiv Government Oriental Manuscripts Library, Hyderabad; Andhra Pradesh

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 Acknowledgements xv

State Archives, Hyderabad; Asiatic Society of Bengal, Kolkata; Ashmolean

Museum, Oxford; Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Paris; Birla Museum,
Pilani; Bodleian Library, Oxford; British Library, London; Cambridge
University Library; Christie’s; Collection of Prince and Princess
Sadruddin Aga Khan; Edinburgh University Library; Fitzwilliam
Museum, Cambridge; Government Oriental Manuscripts Library,
University of Madras; John Rylands Library, Manchester; Khuda Bakhsh
Oriental Public Library, Patna; Maharaja Sawai Man Singh II Museum,
Jaipur; Musee für Islamische Kunst und Asiatische Kunst, Berlin; National
Archives of India; National Museums of Scotland; Rietberg Museum,
Zürich; Norfolk Records Office; Royal Asiatic Society, London; Royal
Collection, Windsor; Royal Green Jackets (Rifles) Museum, Winchester;
Salar Jung Museum Library, Hyderabad; Sotheby’s; University of
Pennsylvania Rare Book and Manuscript Library; UK National Archives;
Victoria & Albert Museum; Yale University Art Gallery; Royal Family of
Jaipur, Geoffrey Plowden, Kathy and Malcolm Fraser, Nicolas Sursock and
Ustad Irfan Muhammad Khan-sahib.
Thanks for scholarly assistance and friendship are due in alphabetical order
to Daud Ali, Jon Barlow, Nick Barnard, Priyanka Basu, Amy Blier-
Carruthers, Olivia Bloechl, Robin Bunce, Esther Cavett, T S Rana Chhina,
Adil Rana Chhina, Nicholas Cook, Amlan Das Gupta, John Deathridge, Katie
De La Matter, Chris Duckett, Arthur Dudney, Munis Faruqui, Darren
Fergusson, Roy Fischel, Andy Fry, Elizabeth Gow, Bendor Grosvenor,
Vivek Gupta, Emily Hannam, Matthew Head, Tom Hodgson, Liam Rees
Hofmann, Ranjit Hoskoté, Danish Husain, Tom Hyde, ICFAMily, David
RM Irving, Radha Kapuria, Max Katz, Pasha M Khan, Razak Khan, Ustad
Wajahat Khan-sahib, Shailaja Khanna, Mana Kia, Tanuja Kothiyal, Daniel
Leech-Wilkinson, Saif Mahmood, Yusuf Mahmoud, Nicolas Magriel, Peter
Marshall, M Athar Masood, Nick McBurney, Phalguni Mitra, Mohsen
Mohammedi, Anna Morcom, Daniel Neuman, Laudan Nooshin, Jenny
Norton-Wright, Rosalind O’Hanlon, Roger Parker, Heidi Pauwels, Norbert
Peabody, Cayenna Ponchione-Bailey, Regula Qureshi, Yael Rice, Malini Roy,
Vikram Rooprai, Zahra Sabri, Rana Safvi, Kevin Schwartz, Sunil Sharma,
Yuthika Sharma, Chander Shekhar, Ayesha Sheth, Gianni Sievers, Nur
Sobers-Khan, Gabriel Solis, Martin Stokes, Mirwaiss Sidiqi, Sue Stronge,
Lakshmi Subramanian, Jim Sykes, Nathan Tabor, Giles Tilletson, Mrinalini
Venkateswaran, Guy Walters, Friederike Weiss, Richard Wolf, Pete Yelding,
Zehra Zaidi, my amazing PhD students and all my beloved #Twitterstorians.
Thank you particularly to Chris Brooke for lending me his nearby flat when
I needed a quiet space to work in.

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 xvi Acknowledgements

I have travelled on this journey for the past decade with the most
wonderful companions on the Awadh Case Study of my ERC project: to
Jim Kippen, Allyn Miner, Meg Walker and Richard David Williams, I owe
you a debt of intellectual enrichment I can never repay. Thank you, too, to
my paracolonial partners-in-crime, Julia Byl and especially David Lunn,
who has not only been my main and wisest sounding board for as long as
I can remember but who also did the index and map for this book. It was
my enormous privilege to work with harpsichordist Jane Chapman and
podcast producer Chris Elcombe in bringing some of this research to life
through sound. Many thanks, too, to Ursula Sims-Williams for her shared
enthusiasm over the decades for the extraordinary South Asian musical
materials in the British Library. I am indebted for help with translations at
various stages to Parmis Mozafari and the late Bruce Wannell especially,
but also Kashshaf Ghani, Richard David Williams, David Lunn and Zahra
Sabri.
Over the years of this book’s gestation, I have been nourished by the deep
friendship, kind mentorship, brilliant conversations and gentle critique of
Molly Aitken, Michael Bywater, William Dalrymple, Emma Dillon,
Francesca Orsini, Margrit Pernau, Davesh Soneji, Meg Walker and the
late, much-missed Allison Busch and Bruce Wannell. Thank you, too, to all
those who read the draft, especially my two anonymous reviewers, William
Dalrymple, Aneesh Pradhan, my mother Ruth Butler and my husband
Paul. I finally wish to pay tribute to the academic forebears upon whose
shoulders I stand: Najma Perveen Ahmad, Shahab Sarmadee, Madhu
Trivedi, Françoise ‘Nalini’ Delvoye and especially Richard Widdess, who
many years ago now was my PhD supervisor. There is one final person
I would like to thank in this vein: my aunt Elizabeth Wiedemann, local
historian of the Inverell district in New South Wales and author of World of
Its Own: Inverell’s Early Years, 1827–1920 and Holding Its Own: The
Inverell District Since 1919. From the time I was a tiny child, it was her
inspiring example that taught me that ‘historian’ was something you could
be – and that small stories of ordinary striving matter to the bigger picture.
This book was written and completed painfully slowly during the years
of the Covid-19 pandemic, and delayed further due to my involvement in
the international effort to help Afghanistan’s musicians get themselves to
safety after the fall of Kabul to Taliban in August 2021; never has the
‘scattering’ of Shahjahanabad 260 years ago felt so close. I am forever
grateful to have found such a patient and generous editor in Kate Brett
and her team at Cambridge University Press (especially Abi Sears) to steer
this very stately ship to shore. But their patience is nothing in comparison

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 Acknowledgements xvii

to that of my son Alex, who was seven when this book’s journey began and
is now a teenager. Every so often he asks me politely, ‘How is your book
going?’ Finally I can tell him, ‘It is finished! tamām shod!’
The best ideas in here were inspired by conversations with Paul
Schofield, a broad intellectual and cultural enthusiast beyond compare.
This book is for him, my own dear rasika.

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 Notes on the Text

On Transliteration

This book is based largely on sources in the Persian language that contain
a great deal of Indic vocabulary, and more selectively from texts in early
forms of Urdu (rekhta) and Hindi (Brajbhāsā) written in the nastcalīq
˙
script. I use a simplified system of transliteration which only marks long
vowels (ā ī ū); retroflex consonants (d dh n r s t th) and nasalisation (ṅ) in
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙˙
words of Indic origin; cain (superscript c) and hamza (’); and distinguishes
kh ‫ ﮐﮫ‬from kh ‫ ﺥ‬and gh ‫ ﮔﮫ‬from gh ‫ﻍ‬. The glossary and titles of untranslated
sources in the bibliography include full diacritical markings following
F Steingass’ Comprehensive Persian–English Dictionary and John T Platts’
Dictionary of Urdū, Classical Hindī and English.1 In accordance with
Steingass I use -i for the izafat construction (e.g. majlis-i samāc), and al-
in titles of works (e.g. Usūl al-Naghmāt).
Spellings (except for proper nouns) are per Steingass and Platts, deferring
to Steingass for words of Persian and Arabic origins (e.g. z, not dh, for ‫)ﺫ‬. The
key exception is the important term mehfil (not mahfil) as it is used today for
˙ ˙
private musical assemblies. Titles of published works in the bibliography are
spelled in accordance with their publishers’ preferences for romanisation.
In a text this complex, there will inevitably be mistakes and inconsisten-
cies; when you find one, feel free to shout ‘bingo’!

On Dates and Calendars

I have translated dates from the al-Hijri lunar calendar (AH) into
Christian/Common Era (CE) dates throughout, using the useful tool avail-
able at www.muslimphilosophy.com/ip/hijri.htm. The AH lunar year and
CE solar year are of different lengths, so there is no systematic date
correspondence between them. Where the source gives the AH month

1
F Steingass, A Comprehensive Persian–English Dictionary (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul,
1963 [orig. 1892]); John T Platts, Dictionary of Urdū, Classical Hindī and English (New Delhi:
xviii Munshiram Manoharlal, 1997 [orig. 1884]).

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 Notes on the Text xix

(and sometimes day) along with the year, I give the exact CE year (e.g.
1800); where just the AH year is provided, I give a forward-slashed year
range (e.g. 1862/3). If only the regnal year is given, this is presented as
a dashed year range (e.g. 1752–3).
The Vikram Samvat (VS) solar year of the Hindu calendar is the same
length as CE, although the months are lunar. It has generally not been
necessary to calculate the VS–CE conversion, as for the chapter on
Rajasthan I am mainly using British documents. But for the record, the
Vikram ritual year (samvat) in use in Jaipur and Jodhpur began on 1
Chaitra (March), the revenue year began on 2 Bhadrapada (August)2 and
the year conversion is generally calculated by taking fifty-seven years from
the VS year to arrive at the CE year.

On Proper Nouns

For names of places I have generally used the Anglicised names prevalent
during the period covered in this book (e.g. Calcutta, Tanjore rather than
Kolkata, Thanjavur). With festivals, I have chosen to use common spellings
without diacritical markings; for example, Diwali rather than Dīwālī, Eid
not cĪd.
Many of the people in this book have long names, pseudonyms and/or
multiple titles, some of them easily confused (there are two Khushhal
Khans and two Ghulam Razas, for instance). I use the long form of
individuals’ names in the first instance, without any diacritical markings,
spelled to reflect their usual pronunciation in Indian languages today (e.g.
Moin-ud-din rather than Mucīn al-Dīn). Thereafter, I have used a variety of
strategies:
• Where the person was a poet, author or musician, I refer to them when
possible using their takhallus or nom de plume/stage name; so cInayat
Khan Rasikh and Nicmat Khan Sadarang become Rasikh and Sadarang.
There are a few exceptions, such as where individuals are only ever
referred to by one name (e.g. Tansen). To avoid confusion I refer to
Khushhal Khan Gunasamudra of Chapter 2 as Khushhal, as his father
was also Gunasamudra, and Khushhal Khan Anup of Chapter 5 as Anup.

2
Monika Horstmann, In Favour of Govinddevjī: Historical Documents Relating to a Deity of
Vrindaban and Eastern Rajasthan (New Delhi: Indira Gandhi National Centre for the Arts and
Manohar, 1999), pp. 69–70.

Published online by Cambridge University Press

 xx Notes on the Text

• Where I use an individual’s name rather than their takhallus, I use the
shortest form that makes meaningful sense and won’t easily be confused
with another individual, for example Himmat for Miyan Himmat Khan,
Raushan-ud-daula (not Raushan) for Raushan-ud-daula Zafar Khan
Bahadur Rustam Jang. To avoid confusion with the Mughal Emperor
Ahmad Shah (r. 1748–54), I refer to the Afghan warlord Ahmad Shah
Abdali Durrani as Abdali. I call the sitār player Ghulam Raza of the
1840s–50s by his title, Razi-ud-daula, to distinguish him from the
important treatise writer of the 1790s Ghulam Raza qawwāl.
• Emperors, queens, royal princes and independent rulers are referred to
using their common ruling titles: so Muhammad Shah; Lal Kanvar;
Muhammad Aczam Shah; (Nawab) Asaf-ud-daula; (Maharaja) Ram
Singh; and so on. Shah cAlam in this book always refers to Shah cAlam
II (r. 1759–1806).
• I use the honorific titles Hazrat, Khwaja, Shaikh, Hakim, Miyan and so
on where they are present in the original texts.

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 CHAPTER XV
THE RUSHING RIVER

For a moment the lad stood as though turned into stone, astounded
and appalled. Then he realized what had happened.
The alligator, following a custom of its kind, had buried itself in the
soft mud, on the same principle that a bear hibernates in winter.
Probably a flood some time before had inundated the district and the
alligator had come with it. When the flood receded the alligator had
remained in its self-imposed burial place. The soft mud had caked
and hardened, but still the alligator slept on.
The weight and warmth of the boy’s body had aroused it, and now it
was issuing forth to renew once more its active life.
For a moment the great brute seemed as much surprised as the lad
himself, and looked stupidly at the invader of its retreat.
But only for a moment. Then a hideous bellow issued from its open
jaws, its fiery eyes snapped with malignity, and it made a lunge at
the jungle boy.
But the lunge was an instant too late.
For Bomba had shaken off the paralysis that the sight of the monster
had brought upon him, and with one bound had cleared the doorway,
leaping high over the fire that blazed in front of the hut.
With speed incredible in so clumsy a creature, the alligator pursued
him. But it could not leap like Bomba, and with the torpor of its long
sleep confusing it and the light of the fire blinding it, plunged
headlong into the flames.
There was a tremendous bellowing and thrashing about, a scattering
of the embers in every direction, and then the half-blinded creature
lumbered out and made for the jungle, forgetting in its own pain and
bewilderment all about its human enemy.
Bomba had not the slightest desire to hinder its going. He probably
could have slain it with one of his arrows, but he forbore, glad
enough to be rid so suddenly of an awful problem.
But there was no more sleep for him that night. He had been too
thoroughly shaken. He made up the fire again and sat down beside
it, keeping a careful watch lest the monster, still lurking in the vicinity,
should return to take vengeance on the author of its misadventure.
But nothing happened during the remainder of the night, and at the
first streak of dawn Bomba made a hasty breakfast and set out once
more on the trail.
The jungle thinned as he went on, and he was able to make such
rapid progress that it was only a little after noon when he reached
the banks of the great river in which somewhere was Jaguar Island.
It was a black, ominous stream, with a current that ran like a mill-
race. At intervals along its length were foaming rapids that made
navigation extremely perilous. Islands dotted its expanse here and
there, but none of these within Bomba’s sight were of any great size.
Where Bomba stood the river was about half a mile in width, but a
little further down it expanded to more than twice that width. Great
trees fringed the banks, the foliage reaching far out over the water.
Bomba hunted the banks for a long distance on the chance that he
might find the canoe of some Indian, either abandoned or hidden in
the sedge grass near the shore. He was an expert in navigating that
type of craft, and would have felt much safer in it than on a raft that
would be wholly at the mercy of the torrent.
But, search as he would, he could find no craft of any sort, and when
he had fully convinced himself that there was no other alternative, he
set to work to build his raft.
There were plenty of fallen trees and broken branches that had been
victims of one of the storms that had swept the jungle, and the boy
had little difficulty in getting enough of the right size and shape of
logs to make the raft he had in mind. It was not to be an elaborate
structure, but it must be strong, for upon its stability his life might
depend.
He had no implements of any kind, except his machete. He had no
nails or hammer with which to fasten a flooring to the logs to hold
them together. But there was an abundance of withes and creepers
that, twisted together, were as strong as any rope, and these he
wound about the logs in such a way that they could not break loose
from one another.
It did not add to his peace of mind to note from time to time an
alligator’s body break the water. Sometimes they sank again after a
lazy glance. More often they swam around sluggishly, watching
Bomba with their little eyes as though calculating how long it would
be before he could be depended on to furnish them a meal. It was
evident that the river was fairly swarming with the terrible creatures.
But these were foes that could be reckoned with, foes that were not
immune from arrow and knife. They were different from ghosts and
demons, those vague, shadowy, yet awful things of which Hondura,
Neram and Ashati had spoken.
Were there any such things? Bomba did not believe there were. Still,
he would have given a great deal to have been perfectly sure on that
point. And almost involuntarily at times his eyes would wander to the
surrounding jungle.
After two days’ labor his work was done, and he surveyed it with
satisfaction. It was as nearly square as he could make it and
sufficiently large so that it would not easily overturn. In addition to the
raft, he had shaped a rough paddle for his steering and a long pole
to work the raft loose, if it grounded in a shallow.
He had been working close to the edge of the bank, and when the
raft was completed he pushed it over into the water. Then he jumped
on board and, standing near the front with the paddle in his hand,
committed himself to the mercy of the current.
It was late in the afternoon when he started, so late, in fact, that he
was almost tempted to wait till the following morning. But now that he
was so near the completion of his journey the urge in him to hurry
was too strong to be resisted.
The moon was full and would rise early, and from this he would get
all the light he needed.
The current was stronger than he had thought, and the clumsy raft
was borne along upon the surface at a surprising rate of speed. At
times it was caught in a cross-current and whirled about, and Bomba
had all he could do to keep his balance. And it was extremely
desirable that he should keep his balance. It would not do to be
thrown into the water.
For Bomba had not started alone. A grim retinue accompanied him.
As he had conjectured, the river was alive with caymans. Some were
swimming along behind him, their greedy eyes fixed unblinkingly
upon the daring young voyager. Others came to the surface as his
raft was carried along and joined in the procession. Once let Bomba
get in the water, and he would be torn to pieces in a twinkling.
No one knew this better than the lad himself, and every nerve in his
body was at its extreme tension.
Not only from his foes in the water was he in danger. At times the
current swept him in so close to the shore that he passed under the
branches of the overhanging trees. These, too, he had to scan, lest
any innocent looking bough should suddenly come to life and prove
to be the body of an anaconda ready to dart down like lightning upon
its prey.
Once he came to a rapids where the churning water made all
attempts to steer impossible, and his raft was tossed about like a
chip. One sudden heave threw Bomba to the floor of the raft, and he
all but slid into the water. But he caught his hands in the crevices of
the logs and held on for dear life.
And now he noted that the alligators were closing in upon him. They
were growing impatient. Hitherto, they had been content to follow the
raft, expecting every moment that the craft would be upset. But as
time passed and this did not happen they became more ugly and
aggressive.
One of them swam under the raft and then rose suddenly, lifting it on
its back, almost upsetting it. The raft rose to a perilous angle, but
righted just in time and fell back with a splash into the water.
The ruse had not succeeded, but there was little doubt that it would
be repeated, and Bomba concluded that it was time to teach his
enemies a lesson.
He selected the largest of the alligators, and, reaching for bow and
arrow, took careful aim at one of its eyes. The arrow went straight to
the reptile’s brain. Its dying flurry churned the water into foam, but
before the body could sink half a dozen of its mates were upon it.
In a minute they had torn the body into fragments and the water was
red with blood. The monsters sank to the bottom to regale
themselves.
The killing of the cayman helped Bomba in more ways than one. It
not only reduced the number of his enemies, but it kept the others
busy with the feast that its body provided. Moreover, it taught the
brutes that the boy was not as helpless as they had supposed, and
they were likely to be a trifle more wary and cautious in future.
While the caymans were disposing of their booty, the swift current
had carried Bomba a long distance ahead. His eyes strained through
the gathering darkness, but he could see nothing of his former
pursuers. He hoped that he had shaken them off.
Vain hope! For in a little while he could see phosphorescent gleams
in the water behind him that he knew marked the trails of the
caymans.
They were coming again. Their appetite for blood had not been
satiated. Rather it had been whetted.
They wanted Bomba! And they were determined to have him!
 CHAPTER XVI
JAGUAR ISLAND

Despite his iron courage, Bomba could not repress a shudder.

To be sure, he still had his bow and arrows, and what he had done
once he might do again.
But now he was handicapped by the darkness. It had come on
swiftly. It would be almost half an hour before the moon would rise.
And how could he shoot in the darkness at such a tiny target as the
eye of the alligator?
For he must kill it there or nowhere. Against the tough, scaly armor
that covered the brute from snout to tail, fifty arrows might strike as
harmlessly as hail on a roof.
He strained his eyes through the darkness ahead, hoping to see
some still blacker blot that might betray the presence of land. He felt
that by now he must be somewhere in the vicinity of the island of the
big cats. Whatever danger awaited him there, he would face gladly
rather than endure the fate that threatened him from the waters in his
wake.
Those phosphorescent streaks were drawing closer now. One in
particular was not more than twenty feet away.
Then there came a rush, and a huge alligator hurled itself out of the
water and came down with half its body on the raft. Its open jaws
snapped at Bomba’s legs.
Quick as lightning, Bomba grabbed the long pole, and with all the
strength of his muscular arms rammed it down the monster’s throat.
The brute slid off the raft into the water, and instantly its comrades
were on it like a pack of wolves.
Relieved of its burden, the raft righted and swung ahead in the
current. A moment later it came up against a jutting point of land with
a shock that almost jarred Bomba off his feet.
But he caught hold of an overhanging branch and held the raft
steady. Gradually he pulled it in until it grounded on a shelving
beach.
Still maintaining his hold on the bough with one hand, Bomba took
from around his neck where he had wound it a strong rope of
creepers and fastened the raft to the bough so that it could not drift
away. Then he leaped to shore.
He threw himself on the ground at full length, panting and exhausted.
Land! To feel the solid earth beneath him after the nightmare of that
awful journey through the seething waters. Now let the alligators
rage! He had cheated them on their own element.
But had he cheated them? He must not grow careless. The alligators
could travel on land as well as in the water. They were close at hand,
and one or more might come creeping up the bank.
So, tired as he was, he got to his feet and made his way cautiously
inland until he came to a thorn thicket, into which he burrowed, not
without scratches on arms and legs. But what were scratches to one
who had escaped the jaws of the caymans?
Was he on Jaguar Island? Or had he struck a smaller island? Ashati
and Neram had told him of one that stood in the river two miles
above the island of the big cats. Perhaps it was this one on which his
raft had grounded.
He need not wait long to know. The moon would soon be up,
flooding all the world with light. Then he could make a survey of his
surroundings and get his bearings.
In the meantime, rest was unspeakably sweet. The terrific strain
under which he had been during that perilous journey down the river
had tested his strength and endurance to the uttermost. Now he
relaxed.
But he did not sleep. For, if he were not already on Jaguar Island, he
still had a trip to make that night. He had vowed to himself that he
would not sleep until he had reached the island where Japazy dwelt.
Then only would he lie down to slumber.
Perhaps to the slumber that knows no waking! He knew that, too.
But the possibility did not for one moment swerve him from his
purpose.
A little while later a faint light came flickering in among the trees. The
moon was rising. Bomba waited for a few minutes more and then
emerged from his shelter and looked about him.
A little scouting showed him that he was not on Jaguar Island. There
was no semblance of human habitation of any kind. The island was
only a few acres in extent, and in a little while he had walked all
around it.
Once more he would trust himself to the swift turbulent river.
He came to the place where his raft was swinging in the sedge grass
near the shore. His eyes scanned the river anxiously. But there were
no more of those streaks of phosphorescence in evidence. The
alligators had waited for a while perhaps, angry and disappointed,
and then returned sullenly to their usual haunts.
To be sure, others might come and take their places, but as Bomba
knew that the brutes usually slept at night he did not apprehend
much danger on that score.
He unlashed the raft from its mooring and with a hard push of his
paddle sent it out from the shore, where it was promptly caught in
the grip of the current.
Now he was on the last lap of his journey, the journey that had taken
him so many weary days, that had been so full of peril and
adventure, and during which his life had so many times seemed to
depend upon the turning of a hair.
Was not the very fact that he had been so preserved, Bomba asked
himself, a proof that the gods of the Indians, in whom he half
believed, were on his side? Surely he could not have come so far
only to be mocked at last at the very moment when the end of his
mission was in sight.
From these reflections Bomba derived what comfort he could, while
his keen eyes scanned the tumbling waters ahead of him and darted
from shore to shore.
Presently he became conscious of an odd humming sound, as of the
buzzing of innumerable bees. In fact, he thought that a hive might be
swarming from one side of the river to the other, and looked to see if
he could detect the presence of the insects in the moonlight. Then
he remembered that the bees swarmed only in the daytime.
Now the noise took on a deeper note, and with the humming were
mingled discordant notes, rumbling notes, ominous notes, with an
occasional crash as of faraway thunder.
Something like this Bomba had heard on his visit to the Moving
Mountain. At that time they had been a prelude to a frightful
earthquake. Was anything of that kind threatening now?
While he was seeking some solution, his eyes caught sight of a light
on the river ahead of him. He thought at first it might be a torch in the
canoe of some native. But if that had been so, it would have moved
steadily in one direction.
Instead, it leaped about irregularly as though a sport of the wind and
waters. Then it disappeared altogether.
Now other lights, some faint, some bright, began to stud the surface
of the stream. There were many of them, and they flared up and
went out as though at the caprice of a magician. All the time the
humming sound persisted.
Bomba began to feel the hair slowly rising on his head. This
transcended anything in his experience. He recalled the warnings of
Hondura, of Neram and Ashati. Was he entering a realm of spirits, of
malignant ghosts and demons? Were they even now laughing in
glee as they saw the young voyager coming within their reach?
So engrossed was he in these eerie imaginings that for a moment
his vigilant watch of the course he was taking lessened. He was
brought to a rude sense of reality when his raft struck violently on a
rock that protruded above the boiling foam of a rapid, so violently
that it broke apart, the tough withes that bound it snapped by the
force of the impact.
The next moment Bomba found himself struggling in the waters of
the river.
He rose to the surface and shook the spray from his eyes. In the
churning waters he could see the separated logs of the raft tossing
about in wild confusion. He grasped one of them and hung on
desperately until the current carried him and his slender support into
the comparatively quiet waters beyond.
Then he climbed up on the log and sat on it astride.
His mind was a welter of conflicting thoughts and emotions. In a
moment the whole outlook had changed. He had been in
comparative safety as long as the raft was beneath his feet. Now he
was a mere floating derelict, unable to shape his course, powerless
to use his weapons if he were assailed.
The other logs were tossing about in dangerous proximity. At any
moment one of them might be hurled against him, breaking a leg or
knocking him senseless.
And the caymans!
He looked behind him fearfully. But there were none of those
phosphorescent streaks to betray the presence of the monsters.
How long would it be, however, before there would be a break of the
water and the emerging of the hideous head of one of the lords of
the river!
Sitting astride the log, his legs were hanging in the water. One bite of
the alligator’s jaws and a leg would be severed as though shorn by
shears.
But he was nearing land. That was one comfort. Before him in the
moonlight he could see a black mass rapidly taking shape. By its
size and general contour, as given him by the ex-slaves, he
conjectured that it must be the island of the big cats.
He drifted nearer and nearer to it. Now he was not more than a
hundred feet away. Bomba braced himself for the jar that would
come when the log struck the shore. Once more he looked behind.
That look almost made his heart stop beating.
He saw a phosphorescent streak!
 CHAPTER XVII
THE HIDDEN LISTENER

Bomba knew all too well what that phosphorescent streak meant. An
alligator was coming, and coming fast.
Bomba measured the distance between himself and the shore. The
log could move no faster than the current. But Bomba could!
In an instant he had dived into the water and struck out for the shore.
He could swim with amazing speed, and he had never put such
power into his strokes as he did now. He knew that he was racing for
his life. Would the start he had prove sufficient to bring him to the
shore before he was overtaken by his terrible pursuer?
It probably would not have been, if the monster had not stopped for
an instant and nosed about the log. It was there its eyes had last
descried the boy, for Bomba had been swimming under water since
he had slipped off like a shadow.
That moment of puzzlement on the part of the reptile proved the
boy’s salvation. For by the time Bomba’s almost bursting lungs
compelled him to come to the surface for air, he found himself within
a few strokes of the shore.
The alligator detected him and put on a tremendous burst of speed.
But it was under too great a handicap. Bomba reached the bank and
pulled himself up just as the alligator made a snap at him and
missed.
Bomba rose to his feet, his heart swelling with jubilation.
But that jubilation was swiftly turned to horror.
As he drew the air into his gasping lungs and turned from the shore,
there came a tremendous roar and the lad found himself looking into
the fiery eyes of a jaguar crouched for a spring.
There was no time to fit an arrow to the bow, not even time to draw
the machete from its sheath, for even as Bomba’s startled mind
grasped the situation, the beast launched itself into the air.
Like a flash Bomba dropped flat to the ground.
He felt the rush of air as the brute passed over him. The next instant
Bomba was on his feet and had drawn his knife, ready for the return
attack.
But there was no need. They had been so close to the bank that the
spring of the brute had carried it over the edge and into the water. It
came up sputtering and strangling and started to scramble up the
bank.
Then came a rush, a scream of mortal agony, and the jaguar was
struggling in the jaws of the alligator!
The great beast fought desperately, tearing with teeth and claws
against the scaly hide of its captor. But the alligator was in its favorite
element and had the advantage. Clamping the jaguar in its great
jaws, it went down under the surface. There was a churning of the
water that rapidly turned red, a few bubbles of air rose to the top,
and then the commotion subsided.
The lord of the jungle had met more than his match in the lord of the
river!
Scarcely daring to believe in his escape, Bomba watched the
turbulent water in a horrid fascination. Two terrible perils, one from
the land, one from the water, had vanished almost in the twinkling of
an eye.
He had reached his destination. He was on Jaguar Island. He was
unscathed. Surely the Indians’ gods—or some power higher than his
own—must be on his side when one of his enemies was made to
destroy the other. The conviction gave him renewed strength and
courage.
He found a thorn thicket, forced his way into it, and sat down to take
counsel with himself as to his future course.
He had formed no clear idea as yet as to how he would approach
Japazy. He had deferred thinking of that until he should have
reached the island.
One thing was certain. He must not seek him at night. In the
darkness and the confusion that his unexpected coming might
produce it might very well happen that he would be killed before his
peaceful intentions could be explained. It was the law of the jungle to
shoot first and investigate afterward.
No, he must go in the daylight, with his palms extended outward as a
sign of amity and goodwill. Then he would be brought into Japazy’s
presence and would explain his errand. Then he would listen to the
words that would give him the information for which his soul yearned
or else doom him once more to heartache and despair.
He looked at the sky and judged the time from the position of the
moon. It was not yet midnight. He would have some hours in which
to get the rest that he so sorely needed. Then at the first streak of
dawn he would be astir, would go scouting cautiously about the
island and find out the dwelling place of Japazy and his people. After
that he could decide how to approach the half-breed.
The mysterious humming mixed with louder and more discordant
notes still persisted. Bomba glanced riverward and saw the flickering
lights dancing weirdly on the surface. What did they mean? What did
they forebode?
He looked about the jungle. In the faint moonlight that filtered
through the trees the things he saw took on fantastic shapes. The
creepers hanging from the trees swayed and writhed and seemed to
stretch out ghostly arms. The knots and boles of the trunks framed
themselves into grimacing faces that seemed to be chuckling over
the fate of the young invader who had come unbidden into their
realm.
With an effort Bomba shook himself free from the morbid fancies that
were stealing upon him.
“Is Bomba an old woman?” he asked himself scornfully. “Will he be
whimpering soon like Pipina, the squaw? No! Bomba does not fear
what the natives fear. He does not tremble like Ashati and Neram
who talk foolish words about ghosts and demons. For Bomba is
white. He is like Gillis and Dorn, who laugh at the talk of ghosts. If
they can laugh, so can Bomba. For Bomba has a white skin and he
has a white soul, and he is afraid of nothing that the foolish people
say walk in the darkness.”
Strengthened in his own mind by this defiance, he took food from his
pouch and made a hearty meal. Then he burrowed still further into
the heart of the thicket, where, knowing that no wild beast would
attempt to get at him, he lay down and slept.
The first faint light of day was creeping up the sky when he awoke.
He made a hasty breakfast, and then, after looking closely to the
condition of his weapons, set out on his voyage of discovery.
It was not long before he discovered that the island was many acres
in extent. Much of it was jungle, almost as thick in places as on the
mainland. But it was much easier to traverse, for there were
numerous well-beaten trails extending in various directions which
attested the presence of quite an island population.
There were sections also on which grew little vegetation. These were
sandy and rocky plateaus, seamed with ravines. There was one
great hill that almost rose to the dignity of a mountain, and from this
a bluish vapor or smoke kept constantly rising and spreading out in
the shape of a fan. At times a flash of flame would issue forth from
the summit.
In the vicinity of this, Bomba frequently felt slight tremors of the
earth, one of them so pronounced that it nearly threw him from his
feet. And the humming was much louder here than it had been when
Bomba was on the river.
Bomba knew that he was in a volcanic region, and the discovery did
not contribute to his peace of mind. The terrible scenes that had
attended the eruption of the Moving Mountain and the earthquake
that had accompanied it were still too fresh in his memory not to stir
him unpleasantly in retrospect.
At almost every moment Bomba expected to come upon some hut or
village in the jungle. From the inhabitants of these, he had planned
to get information as to the village or town in which Japazy dwelt. But
though he saw once in a while some ramshackle cabin, it proved
invariably to be deserted. In some places the lush vegetation of the
jungle had almost overgrown the hut. No beaten path led to the door.
Not the rudest of native furniture was within.
After two or three experiences of this kind Bomba grasped the
situation. The jaguars that had given the island its name must
abound in such numbers that no solitary dweller in the jungle would
be safe. Probably every one of these deserted cabins had been the
scene of a tragedy. Undoubtedly the inhabitants had had to gather
into one town for mutual protection.
Bomba thanked his stars that it was daylight and that most of the
nocturnal prowlers had retired to their dens where they would sleep
the day away in preparation for the next foray. But all the same,
there might be one or more about, and he kept a vigilant eye upon
every tree and thicket.
He had searched about for perhaps three hours when he heard the
twang of a bow string. With it was blended a roar of rage and pain.
Then followed an excited babbling of voices.
The sound had come from the further side of a group of rocks that
seemed to have been thrown about in confusion by some convulsion
of nature. They were not more than fifty yards away.
With the speed and at the same time the stealthiness of a panther,
Bomba glided to the biggest group of bowlders. He squeezed himself
in a crevice between two of them.
Now he could hear the voices of two natives talking vociferously.
 CHAPTER XVIII
DISCOVERED

Bomba edged himself still further between the bowlders until he

found a place where he could look through without himself being
seen.
At once he saw the reason of the excitement.
A dead jaguar lay stretched out on the ground. One arrow protruded
from its side. Another was imbedded in its throat.
Two natives were inspecting it and gloating over their kill. They were
vigorous and stalwart specimens, somewhat above the usual size of
jungle dwellers. Their faces were savage, but not so brutish as those
of the headhunters of Nascanora. They were unclothed, save for the
customary breech clout. On their broad breasts was painted a tribal
emblem that Bomba had never seen, and a band about the forehead
of each held a cluster of nodding plumes.
While the language in which they spoke had some words that were
unfamiliar to Bomba, he was so well versed in most of the dialects of
the jungle, which differ little, that he had no trouble in understanding
what they were saying.
“The aim of Sunka is true,” boasted one, as he bent over the dead
beast and proceeded, with the aid of his knife to get the arrow from
its throat.
“No truer than that of Boshot,” retorted the other, as he sought to
reclaim his arrow from the body. “See how it went through from side
to side!”
“The jaguar is brave, but he is not so brave as the fighting men of
Japazy,” went on Sunka, as he examined his arrow, dried it and
returned it to his quiver.
“His leap is as the lightning, but when the arrow sings he falls,”
added Boshot. “I see Olura, Tama and Abino coming,” he went on,
as he looked toward a trail at his right.
“They have heard the jaguar roar and they come to help,” declared
Sunka. “But there is no need of help when Sunka and Boshot have
fitted their arrows to the string.”
It was in this self-congratulatory mood that the victors welcomed the
three newcomers whom Bomba could now see issuing from the
jungle path.
There were loud cries of satisfaction as the trio discovered the dead
body of the jaguar.
“Japazy will be glad when he sees its head!” exclaimed Olura, as he
surveyed the animal.
“Whose arrow killed it?” asked Tama.
“Mine,” declared Sunka proudly.
“Mine,” stated Boshot with equal conviction.
They glared at each other in defiance, and their hands involuntarily
gripped more tightly the spears that they carried in addition to their
bows and arrows.
“There is no need of bad blood and hot words between Sunka and
Boshot,” intervened Abino, who seemed to be much older than the
others and something of a diplomat. “All Japazy’s people know how
brave they are. What matter which arrow did the killing? Neither
might have done so without the other. Japazy will be pleased with
Sunka and Boshot. But his eyes will shoot lightning at either one, if
he fight with the other.”
“That is true,” put in Tama. “There are too few of our people now
since the plague came some moons ago. That plague carried many
to the place of the dead. The tribe needs all its fighting men to kill
jaguars and not to kill each other.”
The hands of the would-be combatants loosened from their spears
and their anger disappeared. Bomba guessed that the most potent
argument had been the mention of the lightning that would flash from
Japazy’s eyes. It was evident from the reverence with which they
pronounced the name of the chief that they held him in awe.
“The jaguar is dead, and that is good,” said Abino. “But there are still
many left. We kill many, but more come. And there are cubs in the
caves that will soon be big enough to carry off the children of the
tribe.”
“Yes,” agreed Olura, with despondency in his tone. “Two more were
carried off last week. The medicine men make prayers, but still the
jaguars come.”
“They come from the other shore,” observed Abino. “They swim the
river in the night when the caymans are asleep. There are herbs on
the island that they like, that make them laugh when they are sad,
that make them well when they are sick.”
Bomba guessed that they referred to a kind of catnip that he had
already noted growing on the island in great profusion. He wondered
that the natives had not torn these up by the roots, so as to make the
place less alluring to the unwelcome visitors. Then, realizing the rank
and rapid growth of the vegetation, he knew that nothing less than
an army could accomplish the colossal task.
“It would be well if Japazy would take his people to the other side of
the river where the jaguars are not so many and where the tribe
could dwell in peace,” remarked Boshot.
“Beware, Boshot,” warned Abino, looking fearfully about him.
“Remember you not Manasta, he of the bold and forward tongue?
He said one day to Japazy the words that just now came from
Boshot’s mouth. Japazy looked at him and his frown was terrible.
And Manasta has not been seen since that day.”
“That is true,” put in Tama, in an awed voice. “It is said that Japazy
had him tied and put in a bag and thrown into the river to the
caymans. So beware, Boshot. They are good words that Abino has
spoken to Boshot.”
The doughty warrior, who had not quailed before the charge of the
jaguar, seemed to shrink into himself, and Bomba had a new glimpse
into the ruthless character with whom he was soon to deal.
“Now let us skin the jaguar and get his meat,” suggested Olura.
“There is but little food in the huts of our people, and they will be glad
and make a feast when they see us bringing them the meat of the
jaguar.”
They were preparing to carry out the suggestion when there was a
sharp report. A burst of flame sprang out of the mountain’s top, and
the earth shook so violently that all of the natives measured their
length upon the ground. Bomba would have been thrown also, had it
not been for the rocks on either side. As it was, he was knocked
about until he was bruised and sore.
The natives scrambled to their knees and bowed their heads to the
ground, making cabalistic signs and uttering entreaties either to the
mountain or their gods.
The trembling of the earth persisted for several minutes and then
subsided. But it was some time before the natives had so far
recovered from their fright as to set about resuming the skinning and
cutting up of the dead jaguar.
“Tamura is angry,” murmured Abino, looking up fearfully at the
mountain peak, from which smoke and flame were still issuing. “We
must make him gifts, many gifts, so that he may smile again upon
our people.”
“We will give some of this meat to the medicine man so that he may
make a burnt offering,” suggested Tama. “Else the lava floods may
come and roll over the dwelling place of the tribe.”
As though to accentuate this possibility, there came another shock
more violent than the one before.
The rocks between which Bomba was standing were pulled apart as
though by giant hands, and to the startled eyes of the Indians Bomba
stood revealed!